


Chomp - A Voltron Zombie Fic

by justafront99



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 01:10:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20001505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justafront99/pseuds/justafront99
Summary: “Lance, if you don’t stop humming, I’m going to shoot you.”“Shoot your eye in the sky? Your guardian angel? Pigeon, you wouldn’t.”“At this point, the distraction of your god-awful humming is probably a greater liability than going into the field without a lookout so… yes. Yes I would.”Zombie are everywhere. The Garrison trio run into trouble. Shiro and Keith get them out of it - but it's a temporary reprieve.





	Chomp - A Voltron Zombie Fic

==== Chapter 1: Who’s Driving This Bus?===

“Lance, if you don’t stop humming, I’m going to shoot you.”

“Shoot your eye in the sky? Your guardian angel? Pigeon, you wouldn’t.”

“At this point, the distraction of your god-awful humming is probably a greater liability than going into the field without a lookout so… yes. Yes I would.”

“Pidge, please don’t shoot Lance. I really don’t want to have to fill out the paperwork. Also, Veronica will shout at us.”

“I could write that program I’ve been meaning to. To autofill out the forms. Think how useful it’d be everytime we got stuck with an annoying teammate.”

“Ah, a zombie uprising. Who’d have thought we’d get the ultimate ‘dog-ate-my-homework’ excuse for a little murder. There’s a silver lining to every cloud, isn’t there.” Lance’s voice was two-thirds sarcasm and one-third sufficient sincerity that Hunk briefly considered requesting a psych eval for the team’s sniper. On the other hand, optimism even in the face of the crushing despair of the apocalypse was probably a laudable characteristic. But on another, another hand, being that positive in the face of obvious doom was probably grounds for a psyc eval in and of itself.

“Movement on Hunk’s seven o’clock, low.”

It was the change in Lance’s voice - clipped, businesslike - more than the mention of his own name which jolted Hunk out of his little reverie. Musing about his teammates’ mental health while out in the field to the point of distraction? Hunk allowed himself a brief throb of amusement before forcing himself to focus on the direction Lance had indicated.

“I’ve got nothing on the scans,” Pidge sounded calm. “Could it have been a rat?”

“Negative. I’m sure it was red and there was cloth.”

Hunk hoisted his rifle higher and rested his finger on the edge of the trigger guard. “Send Rover over?”

There was a faint high-pitched whirr behind him and Hunk knew that he needn’t even have asked. Pidge was already sending their recon droid forward to probe the area. A zom would attack the noise, but with its moving parts all encased in a steel cage, Rover’s biggest threat was getting shot by the team as they took out any zoms the droid drew out of hiding. Except zoms didn’t usually know to keep to cover. Which meant it was increasingly likely that they weren’t dealing with a shambling member of the undead.

“Nothing but rubble guys.”

“I’m telling you, I saw something. Something fast, and wearing clothes.”

“Well whatever it is, it’s not there now. You must have been-” Pidge’s sentence cuts off midway with a sound somewhere between a scream and a grunt. Hunk whirls around, fear making his heart clench even as adrenaline surges through his body. He’s heard that sound before. Heard it too many times since everything went to hell six months ago. When someone gets jumped by a zombie, sometimes they scream. Sometimes they swear. But usually, when they’re taken completely by surprise, they make a sudden exhalation of noise just like Pidge did.

There’s a zombie on her, sure enough. Hunk aims, but before he can fire, the zombie’s head explodes on one side and it drops like a sack of potatoes. The entire scene had been freakishly silent. There’s no retort of gunfire. No rabid howl from the zombie. No sound except for the harsh sound of Pidge breathing heavily as she struggled with the zombie, first to stop it from biting her, then to hoist its corpse off herself.

“Pidge… You bit?” Lance’s voice is tense, a full octave higher than normal. Hunk knows he should train his weapon on Pidge, make if fast and clean if she says yes.

“I… I don’t think so.” She staggers to her feet. There’s gore down the side of her arm, but it’s dark and viscous; zombie blood. “Thanks for the save.”

“Wasn’t me.” Lance still sounds shaky, but his voice is back to its usual register at least. “Good shooting Hunk. You coming after my eagle eye title huh.”

“Guys… It… I didn’t…”

“Come on, don’t be modest.”

“It wasn’t me! And is it just me or did whoever make the shot have a silencer? None of us have silencers! And that zombie was a Runner, had to be. Nothing else moves that fast. But have you ever seen a Runner that didn’t scream? It got the drop on Pidge. It ducked and hid behind rubble to get around us and jump her from behind. It was stalking us. What the hell is going on??”

Hunk knows he’s panicking. The small, rational, evaluative part of his brain, the same part that understands just how strange the entire encounter was, points out that his breathing pattern is bordering on hyperventilation.

“Hunk buddy, calm down.” Lance’s voice is soothing over the comm channel. Hunk forces himself to hold the breath, the break the staccato rhythm his breathing is taking on. The inside of his face plate stops fogging up from his panicked exhales. “You’re right, it’s weird. But we’re gonna be okay.”

Hunk lets himself believe his best friend for a second as he watches Pidge pull out a small vial and scrape some of the Runner zombie’s blood into it. Nearly killed thirty seconds ago, and the first thing she thinks of is to gather a sample. Occasionally, Pidge’s dedication to scientific investigation is more terrifying than it is impressive. Or maybe it’s a coping mechanism. Maybe she’s falling back on a habitual behaviours because she’s in shock. Hunk automatically does a once-over on his small friend. Major movements are smooth, though there’s a faint shake in her hand as she does the slightly more tricky work of screwing the sample container lid on. Her breathing sounds normal, but she’s yet to speak beyond her initial statement that she was unbitten. As Hunk continues to catalogue Pidge’s behaviour for signs of distress, he can’t help but appreciate the irony that he’s doing exactly what Pidge probably is and falling back on the behaviour of his profession as a means of stabilizing himself. Who knew being a military shrink would be such a hard habit to kick in the apocalypse.

“Hey. Don’t shoot, I’m human.”

They all jump at the voice. There’s a man standing on the pavement some thirty feet away, one hand held up in the universal “hello-I’m-not-looking-for-trouble” gesture. His face is covered with a police-issue faceplate which makes it hard to see anything beyond the fact that he has a shock of white hair that sticks out almost comedically over the hardened plastic. Hunk hears Lance curse over the comm channel and knows that the sniper will be kicking himself for letting someone get the drop on the team twice in as many minutes. If this goes sideways, he expects Pidge to be carrying out some very real kicking of her own. He probably won’t stop her even if he will feel bad for Lance.

“Look, you guys did good with that Runner, but we need to move. It was one of the quiet ones and those hunt in packs. We’ve got maybe a minute before its friends show up.”

“Who-”

The man cuts Pidge off and strides forwards, one hand still in the air. Hunk notices that his other sleeve ends suddenly several inches below the shoulder. He’s not going after a weapon with his other hand. He doesn’t have one.

“I promise I’ll explain but we need to go now, before they surround us. We don’t want to hurt you; my friend wouldn’t have killed that Runner if we did. Please. Follow me.”

His voice is calm but infused with urgency and considerable command. An officer? Hunk wonders. Aloud, he says, “we have another man on the roof. He can cover us.”

“If he doesn’t have a silencer, he shouldn’t. These Runners can navigate inside buildings; they’ll find him as soon as he fires a shot. Tell him to barricade the access and lie low. The Runners will move on. Now come on.”

Pidge and Hunk exchange a look. “Lance, you heard that?”

“Yup. I think you should follow this guy. But keep a line open; I’ll be watching and if he tries anything funny, nothing’s going to stop me from shooting.”

The one-armed man leads the way through a broken window into a shop that used to sell furniture. Hunk and Pidge follow him into a basement with a heavy metal door, switching on their flashlights as they go. There’s a second man standing in front of it, a red bandanna tied around his face and a pair of welding goggles pushed up onto his forehead. Hunk raises his gun a little; he knew the one-armed man wasn’t alone, he’d admitted as much. But there was something vaguely unsettling about this new character, and it wasn’t just the sniper rifle slung over his back and the bandolier of knives around his chest. The one-armed man notices.

“It’s okay, this is Keith. He’s my friend who shot the Runner. Come on, let’s get inside.”

Keith pushed open the door and they crowd in. It’s a windowless storeroom with only a small vent and a heavy bar that Keith drops into place as the door shuts behind them. He kicks a rag in a corner to cover the underside of the door where their light might otherwise shine through.

“We’ll have to keep quiet. Wait two hours to be safe and then we can venture out. Tell your friend to maintain radio silence.” 

“I heard that.” Lance’s voice is clearly resigned even though the comm signal is static-y from being in a basement. “Scream if you need me.”

“He’s got it.” Hunk lowers himself onto a crate in a corner. Sitting in silence in the semi-dark with two strangers for two hours while creepy new zombies roam around outside. Great.

“So... “ Pidge’s voice is low and falsely cheery. “Anyone bring a deck of cards?”

The man called Keith turns to her. He hasn’t bothered to lower his bandana but it’s clear just from his eyes his expression’s baleful.

“No. Shhhh.”

It’s going to be a long wait.

**Author's Note:**

> It's not beta'd. Sorry for the typos. Feedback welcome; trying to figure out how to build suspense and mystery. Also: how is to write action scenes they be a bitch.


End file.
